Be Careful What You Wish For
by Battered notebook of stories
Summary: Set at the beginning of Raiders. With the Raven Saloon in flames behind them, two new partners who share a whole lot of history make their escape. As they do, they must face the changes in themselves and each other that ten years have brought.


For Easter egg fans, there is a line from '_The Scarlet Pimpernel _(musical) hidden in Marion's thoughts in Part 4

A drabble awaits the first person to find it :)

Be Careful What You Wish For

Nepal, 1936

Indy

For ten years I've thought I'd sell my soul to see Marion just one more time.

Be careful what you wish for, Jones. You may get it.

This was supposed to the part where the goddamn mess I've made of my life turned into something good. Yep, the happy ending, at last. This was supposed to be the moment when I walked through that door and said 'Hello, Marion' and she couldn't believe it was really me. Then she'd say my name in that voice I hear in my dreams. She'd give me one of those smiles that used to stop my heart, and her whole face would light with love and welcome.

This was supposed to be the part when she ran into my arms and I held her tight enough to _fuse_ her to me, and we both cried. The part when I said how sorry I was and how I thought she didn't want me anymore and how ashamed I've been to face her after everything that happened. And then she would kiss me and say she forgave me, because, really, nearly everything was Abner's fault anyway.

And then I was just going to pick her up and _hold _her. We'd grab the headpiece and I'd carry her out the door-right back into the life we should have had from the start. I'd have her back at last-sweet Marion, the one person in the world besides my mother who's ever really loved me. Just me and my sweet baby with the whole world on string. Yeah. Right.

No loving arms or sweet kisses for me. Instead of my sweet baby I got a spitfire with a helluva right cross. "I was a child!" (Neither of _us _thought so) "I was in love!" (So was I, honey). "It was wrong, and you knew it!" (Y_ou_ crawled into _my_ bedroll, sweetheart, not the other way around. Admittedly, I didn't make you leave, so there's enough blame _there _to go around...)

So, a few Nazis and one ugly fight later, Marion's bar is an inferno behind us, we're both alive, we've got the headpiece, and I have a new partner.

I didn't picture her leaving with me on quite these terms, but 'with me' is better than 'not'.

We've also got company.

Two of the climbers I saw earlier, an Aussie and a Brit, rush up followed by a raggedy line of villagers.

The Aussie reaches us first "God in heaven, Marion! What's happened here?"

"Nazis, Dick."

"That's what I thought when Mohan told me he saw Germans. I've got my party getting ready to go down at first light."

"Good plan"

She points to me. "Jones, this is Richard Caruthers. Dick, this is the man they're after. We're leaving tonight, down the south face; we'll stop at the bivvy shack."

"Want me to detail a man to get you down? He can join our party in the morning."

"Dick. You can't send one man alone across the traverse route, and the shack won't hold five. Don't worry about me; I'll have Mohan's help. Your job is to get your party down before _Der Fuehrer_'s little helpers bring their friends over to play."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

"I'm going out back to gear up- what you can do is detail Alan to help Jones."

The gear shack is set a ways back of the now- smoldering building. It's small, dark and full of crated clothes and tools.

"Much of a climber?" Alan asks me.

"Some, stateside. Mostly rock, not a lot of snow camping."

"Do me a favor-put the hat in your rucksack. With it, you're the man they're looking for, without it, you're just another backcountry bum."

I concede the point.

He's sorting through crates and soon I have cold weather trousers, a thick sweater and hooded anorak, and thick gloves. The boots are more of a problem; evidently men with my size feet keep their boots on. We settle on packing a too-large pair with extra socks.

While we're waiting for Marion, the Brit takes me aside and says "So, known her long, Mr. Jones?"

"Since she was 12", I reply. "I knew her father very well at one time."

"I see" he says, looking a little less belligerent. "Word in your ear, mate. If you're the man who's going down the mountain with pretty Marion, you must know that a number of chaps would give their left, er, arm to be in your shoes. Now, Marion's a smart cookie, and she wouldn't take you down the south face if she didn't think you were on the up and up. The south shack's a small bivvy and some of the lads use it for a little 'privacy' from time to time, if you catch my drift. I left a bottle of brandy in the first aid kit if that interests you."

"I'll keep it in mind."

"But _**I **_don't like your looks above half, boyo, so let me tell you this. Climbers are a tight fraternity. _Everyone_ who comes through Nepal knows the Raven, and Marion's one of ours. She knows where to leave word that she's made it down safely. If we don't hear…well, there are more of us than there are of you. Understand?"

"Well if you don't like my looks, Mac, **I **don't like your **tone **and..."

Before we can do more than square off, Marion arrives, geared up, with a rucksack on her back. She steps between us and says, "_Boys. _Have a pissing contest some other time, please. Alan, Dick needs you. Jones, we're off."

Alan waves and the Aussie comes over to clasp Marion's hands

"Will you be back?" he asks her, with a little more interest than I like. OK, a lot more interest than I like.

"Not if I'm lucky."

"Godspeed, then" he answers.

"And to you. Safe journey."

Then Marion _kisses_ both of them. On the cheek, but still.

The fella who got rid of the Nazis is _right here,_ waiting….

I finger my sore jaw, again, as we start away from the village.

Outside the last group of houses, we meet the big ugly mother from the bar. He's carrying lanterns and a rope. I grab the rope and move up to take the point. Instead of giving me an adoring look, my sweet baby says, firmly, "Sorry, partner. You just don't know this terrain and the bivouac we are looking for isn't easy to find. Your job is to rope up and hang on."

So I do. Big Ugly takes point, I'm in the middle and Marion brings up the rear. What follows are two of the most miserable hours of my life. We're going down the mountain at a punishing pace, with only two lanterns to guide our way in the dark. The snow helps with visibility some, but not enough. I can barely see, I'm losing the feeling in my feet and hands and my lungs struggle in the thin air. The only thing that keeps me going is the pull of the rope and Marion reaching up to guide my feet on this damn goat path we're supposed to be following.

_2_

I would never have found this place. It's a little shack with a fire pit in the middle, tucked into the mountain side. Inside are a bench with pots and cooking tools and crates of cached supplies. There's a woodpile outside and extra wood by the fire pit.

The heavy snow on three sides and the roof keeps it surprisingly warm.

I stand in a corner stamping my feet and clapping my hands, trying to get the feeling back. Big Ugly brings in some wood and builds up a roaring fire. Marion puts on the kettle, starts heating some tins of stew, and lays out some blankets to warm. Then she turns to me. I smile-maybe the guy who saved her from the Nazis is finally due for a little TLC.

"Get your boots and socks off, Jones, we need to soak your feet. Then I'll take a look at your back." My fingers are too numb to undo the laces, so she sits down in front of me and gets my boots off. Then she puts my feet in a basin of warm water, and hands me a cup of tea. _It's been a long time since a woman cared about my comfort. Ten years,_ _in fact_. My eyes sting, a little, from remembering or the cold, but I don't want her to see.

"Your British friend said there was a bottle of brandy by the first aid supplies."

"We have to leave some for the next party to come through, but you boys could do with a shot for medicinal purposes, I think."

She gives me a slug of brandy in my tea and pours the big Sherpa a generous three fingers.

"None for you?"

"Depends, Jones. If I have to doctor you, how steady do you want my hands?"

I see her point. Then she tells me to take my shirt off, hands me a blanket, and starts in on my back and arms with the first aid kit. The salve on the burns is all right. Especially when she rubs it in. The iodine, on the cuts? Stings like hell. But I'm warming up and she's _touching_ me. For a few moments it's 1926, the last ten years never happened, and I'm back in on that dig in Egypt with my baby. Happiest time of my life, before it all exploded. When she's done, I don't want the feeling to end. I reach back to slip an arm around that tiny waist and keep her close.

She sidesteps me neatly, and says "So who do you think _you_ are, Clark Gable?"

_Smooth move, Jones_. She must have men making passes at her every night.

But there's tease in her voice and she ruffles my hair on the way to get me a plate and some tinned stew. Bet she does that to all the boys.

Big Ugly eats with us, and there's a long conversation between them in Nepalese that I don't follow. Then he gets up, gears up, and goes to the door. Marion _hugs_ him when he leaves.

When she turns back, I ask her "What's the plan, beautiful?"

"Mohan wants to go further down; he has family in the next village. In the morning one of them will be up to help me get you down the next leg. If we make good time we should be below the snowline by tomorrow night, day after tomorrow at the latest, then overland to Katmandu. The train comes once a week but if it's left there's a jitney bus we can hire."

"Fair enough"

Marion throws some more wood on and hands me some warmed blankets.

"Here, Jones. I'll take the side by the door; you take the far side where it's warmer.

She holds up a warning hand "I don't think we'll have company, but if we do, remember that I speak the language and I'll know friend from foe a lot faster than you will."

So here we are, alone at last. My plans for tonight _did _involve somewhere private and cozy, with a glowing fire. They also featured a big soft bed where Marion and I would be about now- without a millimeter of air space or a stitch of clothing between us. _I liked my idea a lot better than this one. But I'm not moving over to my side until I clear something up. _I put a hand on her arm.

"Marion?"

"What?"

"How many times would you say that I've kissed you?"

"I forgot to count," she says flatly, and starts to turn away.

I keep my hand on her. "So did I." But one more time won't hurt."

"You're wrong there, buddy. It'll hurt more than you could possibly imagine."

"Maybe it will hurt. Or maybe it's the only thing that can make it stop."

She isn't moving. _Double or nothin', Jones._

So, I slowly draw her in and touch my lips to hers. It's a gentle kiss, tender and full of promise. Perhaps it really belongs to the young lovers we were, not to the 'obtainer of rare antiquities' and the tough-talkin' dame who met tonight.

When the kiss breaks, she looks up at me, and I'm lost in those beautiful eyes, as I've been so many times before. _There's my sweet baby_. I start to shift my weight so that I can pick her up...

And she pushes off from my chest, all business.

"What you need to do, mister, is get some shut-eye."

She ticks a list off on her hand, "You're not used to the altitude, you're in borrowed gear, that doesn't really fit you, we've had a tough descent and", her voice softens "you put up a helluva fight saving my life. Thank you."

I shrug.. what is there to say?

"Listen, Jones, this mountain's pretty but she's a heartless bitch. I've seen some good men die in her arms. If you get hurt, you're too big for me to move alone. I could get help, but I can't ask for it. If those goons have friends, they'll be looking for us. I've _lived_ here, Jones. I've played with their children and buried their dead. I can't put innocent people in harm's way to save our sorry asses. I just can't. So the only way we're going to make Katmandu is to keep you in one piece. This means you pace yourself, or I pace you."

"Agreed. We have a deal, Marion. It's your show until Katmandu."

I take my blankets and doss down.

"'Night, partner"

3

Marion must think I'm asleep. She takes the kettle outside and scoops up some snow before she bars the door. While the water is heating she putters around the tiny cabin, stowing things neatly, making sure our boots are near the fire and our socks are turned out to dry. _She used to do this in my tent, ten years ago_. _I would gripe about it, for form's sake, but I didn't know how badly I'd miss those sweet little things that all meant 'love'. Certainly no other woman's wanted to do them for me..._

When the kettle steams she pours it out over the snow in the basin. Then she sets the basin down by the fire and starts unbuckling her trousers. She isn't going to- oh. She is. Shouldn't surprise me- Marion's not afraid to get her hands dirty but she likes to be clean. There's a trickle of water pouring as she wets a rag, then the soft thud of her shirt and trousers as they drop to the floor.

Now she's standing by the fire in nothing but some very fetching lingerie. There's something _unbelievably _sexy about the contrast between the sturdy climbing gear, the no-nonsense work clothes, and the secret, feminine woman hidden underneath them. Waiting to be discovered. _And I know just the archeologist for the job..._Marion stretches- which gets my complete attention-and unbraids her hair until it falls in dark waves past her shoulders.

And just when thing are getting _really _interesting, she blows out the lantern... She's all soft shadows and golden outlines, now, but it's still more than enough to make a lonely man dream of sweet comfort and coming home. She sponges off by the fire, lost in some private reverie.

I can't take my eyes off her.

Marion was lovely as a girl. As a woman, she's _breathtaking._ That silky dark hair, tumbling over her white skin- just _begs _for a man's caress. _I wish I could stop remembering_ _how soft it was and how good it smelled_… Those beautiful breasts are fuller than I remember. _She used to pillow my head there, and I'd turn my face to the soft hollow between them. I'd hear her heartbeat and feel her skin, soft as velvet. Then she'd stroke my hair and kiss me while I fell asleep._ God, I slept so easy next to her….

That saucy little arse of hers curves down to about ten miles of gorgeous legs. _Sometimes, when we'd make love, she'd wrap them around my waist and send me to __heaven._ I'm remembering that and a lot of other things a little too well right now. I want her so bad I _ache._ Probably too much to hope that she doesn't notice.

Then the penny drops. I stretch out, put my hands behind my head, and don't even _try _to wipe the grin off my face. Awww_, honey…_ Marion always came to my bed sweet and fresh, just for me. Now her pretty hair's down, and she's bathing with scented soap…._ Mmmmm. _Just like old times_. _The fire's going strong, the lights are low, and all she has to do is take a few steps around that fire pit to reach a cozy nest of blankets- where someone will be _very_ happy to welcome her. Looks like we're getting back to my plan for the evening, after all. I move over to make room. Not that we'll need much, with as close as we're gonna be. I can just _taste_ that first delicious kiss… _C'mere, baby_, _next to Indy where it's warm. We've got so many lonely nights to make up for..._

_Oh, Shit. Shit. __Shit._ I should have known I wouldn't catch a break. Marion dries off, as calmly as a cat, and puts on a big wool shirt she's laid out by the fire. Then she looks at me, cocks her head and smiles a teasing, challenging smile. _Eat your heart out, Jones_, it says, plain as any words. I get a last, tantalizing glimpse of those legs as she sashays off to her own blankets. _Damn._

_Where did my little Freckle Face go, Marion? What happened to my sweet baby?_

Like I need to ask- with her looks, and in the middle of hell-and-gone with only a crazy old man who wouldn't protect her? Work that D. Phil, Jones, and use something _above _your neck to think with. For a change. A lot of very ugly things can happen to a pretty woman in the back-beyond. Bet your bottom dollar some of them happened to her.

So-Abner Ravenwood and his prize student, his goddamn golden boy-there's our final joint project. Between us we brought his little girl to this godforsaken waste and abandoned her here. Abe, if you're roasting in hell for this- save me a seat by the fire. Likely I'll see you when I get there myself.

She deserves better than this. She deserves better than_ me._

_Honey, you've got no cause to believe me after everything that's happened.. So I won't say this out loud. But if some power is listening, I swear on my mother's grave that you're getting out of this mess. I'll get you stateside and make sure you're safe. You'll meet a better man, and you can start over, like you should have years ago. He'll take care of you, and love and protect you the way I should have all along. Hell, he just better lay the world at your feet. If it costs me my life to get you there, so be it. Not like it's good for much else. The man you thought I was -that clean boy who loved you so- would want me to give you this last gift. Even if it comes from the filthy, bloodstained hands of the man I am now.._

_Scout's honor._

_Damn it._

_Damn it to __hell__._

_4_

Marion

_I'm on to you, Jones. Go ahead and look. So I'd rather smell nice than reek of smoke and sweat- doesn't mean there's anything in it for __you__, pal. Did it ever even __occur __to you that I'm a grown woman, who's not gonna flutter her eyelashes and swoon into your manly arms because you just decide to __show up__? __Men-__idiots, the lot of you._

Marion pulled her blankets up, and turned her back on a very frustrated Indiana Jones. Then she curled into herself to keep out the cold.

_I always knew Indy would come back. One of these days he would walk through my door. It was karma, it was destiny, it was inevitable. So tonight a man came in- big, handsome Yank in a leather jacket and a battered hat. He wore Indy's clothes, he answered to his name and he even had his smile. But he wasn't __my__ Indy. _

_Oh, Indiana. I gave up crying as a bad job a long time back but I could weep for you._

_What happened to my hero? I can still see him when I close my eyes-so tall and handsome, so young and strong. He was a scholar, a fighter, and a tender lover who'd wrap me up in his arms and say he never wanted to let me go._

_Indy used to tell me he loved me in a dozen languages, living and dead -tonight at the bar he talked to me like I was some whore he'd paid to show him a good time for a fin and a drink. Indy used to have big dreams about knowledge and discovery and 'finding the treasures that belong to all mankind'. His face would light up when he talked about them- just like it lit up when he looked at me. _

_And now he's a mercenary, just another hard bitten man with roaming feet, chasing after some will o' the wisp in the back-beyond. 'Fortune and Glory?' Aren't you the man who taught me what a 'chimera' was, honey? Whatever you're looking for, I don't think you've found it yet -and you probably never will. Is that what's turned you so bitter, so cynical?_

_Like I need to think too much. Men on their own in the back-beyond will see a lot of ugly things. And maybe do a few of' em, too. Not such a Boy Scout these days, are we, Jones? _

_But Indy came back for me, even after I sent him away. He didn't have to. This could have played a lot of different ways. He could have given the whole business up as a bad job and gone home. Or he could have let the Nazis kill me-the hard way- and picked the headpiece off from them. Once we were outside, he could have just shot me and taken it. But he didn't- and he saved my life. Maybe there's a little bit of my Indy still there. Guess I'll find out, one way or the other, before we're through..._

Even as tired as Marion was, sleep was hard to come by. Indy's sleep was light and troubled -very different from the blissful slumber of the man who'd slept by her side. Or in her arms. He tossed, turned, and mumbled constantly. It would subside for a few moments, and she'd think he was resting at last. Then he'd start up worse than before.

She wanted to go over and check on him, _but he'd think I was there for a very different reason. Jones would like to-but he hasn't pushed it. There are men who would have pinned me to the floor by now. I don't want to find that Indy's really one of them. Let's leave a girl her few illusions. Though I wish I could stop remembering his face , so close to mine, and his voice, so loving, saying "Nothing but gentle for my sweet baby- if I hurt you, honey, you tell me and we'll stop…" _

Indy became more and more restless as the night wore on. Finally his tossing and turning built to a crescendo and he gave a loud, strangled cry. Marion snatched up her blankets and flew to his side before she'd even had a chance to think.

She shook him, gently. "Jones? Indy? Indy, honey?" but he didn't rouse. Instead he tossed his head from side to side, mumbling something about _death, fire, blood, no, please__, no more."_

He was clammy with sweat. A faint tremor ran through his body-he wasn't used to this cold. Or perhaps it was the dreams. Then he sat up, arms flailing, and choked _"No, No, God, no!' _before he sank back into his blankets

She couldn't stand to see him suffer like this. No matter what he'd done. She lay down beside him and unbuttoned her shirt -_snug him down, skin to skin, the way they do with babies, here, that should calm him..._ Then she pulled the blankets over both of them, and drew her Indy close.

He struggled for a moment-then his eyes opened, wide and unfocused.

At last, they fixed on her.

"Oh, Marion," he husked. "Oh, sweetheart."

Then his arms went around her, and he buried his face in her neck.

"Please," he muttered softly, caught between sleep and waking. "_Please._"

She knew what he needed, and he'd rescued her, after all. So she held him the way she'd held her lover, so far away and long ago. She rocked him, a little, and she smoothed his hair and stroked his back. She murmured the soft words that mothers say to their children, whose monsters are illusions. For sometimes, in the deep night, women say them to their men-whose monsters were real. _"It's all right, now,...It's all over,…They're gone,…You're safe,… Rest, honey,…Love you,...shhh."_

As the little bubble of warmth under their blankets expanded he stopped shivering. His tight muscles unwound and he melted into her embrace. His head sank, heavy and relaxed, into the curve of her body. Soon, there was no sound in the cabin except the hiss of the dying fire and Indiana's soft snores.

Marion stayed awake, looking into the fire, guarding her sleeping man from whatever demons stalked his dreams_._

_I used to think I'd sell my soul to hold Indy in my arms, just one more time._

_Should have been careful what I wished for._

_My Indy was the love of my life, the light of my eyes, and the treasure of my heart. I __was __hardly more than a child when we were together -but I was still woman enough to share his bed and to love him with everything I had. You're not my Indy anymore, Jones. And oh, when I look at you, I miss him so. But for the sake of the man I loved, I can give a little comfort to this man he's become. So rest now, my darling. Warm and safe, next to my heart. Just a few short hours till dawn. _

She kissed the top of his head tenderly, while the slow tears slid down her cheeks and fell into his hair.


End file.
